RED  POPPIES  IN 
THE  WHEAT 


JOHN  RICHARD  MORELAND 


presented  to  the 
UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 

by 
Margaret   Robinson 


.  t  » 


RED  POPPIES  IN  THE  WHEAT 


Red  Poppies  in  the  Wheat 


BY 

JOHN  RICHARD  MORELAND 


NEW  YORK 
JAMES  T.  WHITE  &  CO. 

1921 


COPYRIGHT,  1921. 
JAMES  T.  WHITE  &  CO. 


TO  MY  MOTHER 


NOTE 

Following  is  a  list  of  poems  included  in  this  collection 
which  have  been  published  in  Magazines: 

"Red  Poppies  in  the  Wheat,"  "Tears,"  "Gifts,"  "The 
Kiss,"  "What  Would  You  Give?"  and  "Bereavement"  in 
The  Minaret;  "Recompense,"  in  The  Reviewer;  "The 
Living  Lie,"  in  The  Madrigal;  "Love  at  Eventide,"  in 
McC  all's;  "The  Sea,"  in  Shadowland;  "The  Intruder,"  in 
The  Cavalier;  "Lowlands,"  in  The  American  Poetry 
Magazine;  "The  Hope  Eternal,"  "Bon  Voyage,"  in  The 
Quiver  (London,  England);  "Love's  Sacrament,"  in 
Columbia  Record;  "To  a  Japanese  Print,"  in  Motion 
Picture  Classic;  "Eventide,"  in  Man :  the  W&nderful; 
"I  Love  You  So,"  in  Choice  Bits;  "A  Grave,"  "Admira 
tion,"  "Growth,"  "Genre,"  "Life's  Day,"  "Love's  Telling," 
"The  Faithful  Messenger,"  "Autumn,"  "Loss"  and  "How 
Vast  is  Heaven?"  in  The  Lyric;  "Faith,"  in  The  Chris 
tian  Herald. 


CONTENTS 

RED     POPPIES     IN     THE     WHEAT 15 

THE    COWARD    DAWN 16 

LOVE'S    SACRAMENT     17 

GENRE      18 

"l    DID    NOT    HEED    THAT    SPRING    WAS    HERE" 19 

THE    KISS 20 

THE    LITTLE   SIN    21 

TREASURE      22 

TO    A    JAPANESE    PRINT 23 

I    LOVE    YOU    SO , 24 

THE    MIRACLE    25 

TEARS 26 

THE    LITTLE    ROOM    27 

THE    SEA     28 

GIFTS      29 

THE    LITTLE    HOUSE     30 

THE   UNRETURNING 31 

WHITE    HORSES  OF   THE    SEA 32 

A    VILLANEI,     33 

THE  WIND 34 

DAY      35 

KINSHIP     36 

WEALTH      37 

LOST     38 

HOW  VAST  IS   HEAVEN  ? 39 

A    WATER    COLOR    40 

THE   SCALES   OF  LOVE 41 

THE    NOMAD    STRAIN    42 

EVENTIDE      43 

RECOMPENSE     .44 


CONTENTS 

ADMIRATION      45 

TO    ONE    AWAY     46 

LILACTIME       47 

"IF  YOU   WOULD   BE   MY  FH1ENI)" 48 

LOVELIOHT      49 

AUTUMN     50 

LIFE'S  DAY    51 

THE  INTRUDER   52 

THE  RED  WOMAN    53 

"AS  ONE  GROWN  TIRED  OF  LIVING" 54 

KNOWLEDGE    55 

THE    POET     56 

WHAT  WOULD   YOU   GIVE  ? 57 

KINGS      58 

THE    LENGTH    OF  A   NIGHT 59 

ZION    STILL    IS    WELL    BELOVED 60 

LOWLANDS 61 

NIGHTFALL     62 

EASTER 63 

LOSS     64 

THE  RECORD  OF  THE  AGES 65 

LOVE'S    TELLING     66 

THE    FAITHFUL    MESSENGER     67 

TO    A    CAGED    LINNET    68 

THE    GUEST    DENIED     70 

COLUMBINE       72 

BROADWAY    IN    A    FOG     74 

THE    TEST     75 

PRISONERS     76 

THE    PIPES   O'    PAN     77 

TIME      78 

THE   LIVING    LIE 79 

INTENTIONS      80 


CONTENTS 

"THE  PRIEST  is  COME  AND  THE  TAPERS  BURN" 81 

THE    VEILED    ANGEL     82 

NEVER   REST   STREET    83 

INCONSISTENCY      84 

FAITH      85 

HER    DWELLING    PLACE     86 

BEREAVEMENT      88 

A    GRAVE     89 

SAFE    IS    MY    TREASURE     90 

THE    DEAD    91 

BON    VOYAGE     92 

PREVISION     93 

THE    INN   OF   CONTENT 94 

THE    HOPE    ETERNAL     95 

BEYOND    THE    LAND    OF    SLEEP   AND    DEATH 96 

FINIS     ....  .97 


RED  POPPIES  IN  THE  WHEAT 


RED  POPPIES  IN  THE  WHEAT 

Life  is  red  poppies  in  the  wheat, 

Love  be  not  late ! 

Keen  is  time's  sickle ;  years  are  fleet ; 
Life  is  red  poppies  in  the  wheat, 
Filled  with  brave  dreams  and  crimson  sweet 

But  bound  by  fate ! 
Life  is  red  poppies  in  the  wheat, 

Love  be  not  late ! 


15 


THE  COWARD  DAWN 

I  hate  the  dawn;  I  hate  the  cold  gray  dawn; 
It  creeps  so  hungrily  from  the  vast  unknown, 
Visible  silence  like  a  ghastly  moan. 
Waking  the  trembling  wood  and  pallid  lawn, 
Prowling,  it  seeks  fair  food  to  feed  upon, 
Till  the  royal  sun  above  the  orient  zone 
Leaps  to  arouse  and  kiss  and  claim  his  own: 
Then  on  a  sudden,  coward-like  is  gone! 

For  one  I  love,  with  hair  of  dull  red  gold, 

With  sad,  sweet  eyes,  and  pale  and  lovely  face, 

Like  a  Madonna,  gentle,  with  a  trace 

Of  suffering  .  .  .  though  her  heart  was  high  and  bold, 

Dawn  wrapped  within  his  chill  gray  mantle's  fold 

And  kissed  and  killed  her  in  his  cold  embrace. 


16 


LOVE'S   SACRAMENT 

I  knew  a  priest  in  other  lands 

Who  daily  culled  an  opening  bud, 

And  crushed  the  stem  within  his  hands 

Until  his  palms  were  stained  with  blood. 

I  questioned  once  this  mystery, 

And  why  his  palms  were  daily  red? 

"Love  wore  a  crown  of  thorns  for  me; 
Thus  I  remember,  son !"  he  said. 

Today  my  heart  can  understand 

That  loving  act  of  long  ago; 
The  rose;  the  thorn,  the  bleeding  hand 

Have  all  been  mine,  that  I  might  know ! 


17 


GENRE 

An  old  fashioned  shop 

With  dingy  entrance 

And  tinkling  bell; 

A  sad.  sweet-faced  woman 

Dressed  in  black,  behind  the  counter 

Waiting  on  a  little  lad 

With  a  large  copper  cent 

Wanting  a  ginger  cake. 

The  shop  is  lost  among  skyscrapers 

The  woman  a  drift  of  dust 

And  forgotten; 

The  lad  an  old  man, 

Yet  memory  clings 

With  joy  to  the  picture 

And  the  taste  of  the  cake 

Seems  as  if  just  eaten. 


18 


'I  DID  NOT  HEED  THAT  SPRING  WAS  HERE. 

I  did  not  heed  that  spring  was  here; 

The  city  streets  were  chill  and  gray, 
When  lo,  I  passed  a  window  where 

White  dogwood  blooms  were  on  display. 

I  paused  ...  I  could  not  quickly  pass 
The  vision  in  the  window  small  .  .  . 

I  felt  warm  winds  that  stirred  the  grass, 
I  heard  the  singing  sand-dunes  call ! 


19 


THE    KISS 

For  love  or  lust,  for  good  or  ill, 
Behold  the  kiss  is  potent  still! 

O  mother-lips  that  fashion  it  ... 
Earth's  purest  kiss  and  exquisite. 

While  dearest  dreams  the  heart  may  know 
Love's  kiss  doth  hold  when  moons  hang  low. 

Yet  oft  upon  the  mouth  of  trust 
The  traitor's  fetid  lips  are  thrust. 

And  hardened  harlots  hating  truth 
Smile  and  befoul  the  lips  of  youth. 

How  Hell  rejoiced  'mid  flame  and  drouth, 
When  Rome  kissed  Egypt's  wine-dark  mouth. 

But  ah,  that  kiss  divinely  sweet 
That  Mary  pressed  on  Jesus'  feet. 

Time  grants  no  surer  Boon  than  this : 
Death's  poppy-scented  mouth  to  kiss. 

And  treasured  more  than  gems  or  gold 
That  last,  long  kiss  on  lips  clay-cold. 

For  love  or  lust,  for  good  or  ill, 
Behold  the  kiss  is  potent  still! 


20 


THE   LITTLE   SIN 

It  was  such  a  little,  little  sin, 

And  such  a  great  big  day, 
That  I  thought  the  hours  would  swallow  it, 

Or  the  wind  blow  it  away. 

But  the  moments  passed  so  swiftly, 
And  the  wind  died  out  somehow, 

And  the  sin  that  was  once  a  weakling 
Is  a  hungry  giant  now. 


21 


TREASURE 

These  are  the  treasures  that  his  heart  holds  dear: 
A  christening  cup  marked,  "To  my  little  son," 
A  bit  of  purple  quartz  from  Blomedon, 
A  china  rabbit  with  a  broken  ear, 
A  small,  dull  knife,  that  cost  him  many  a  tear! 
All  day  he  holds  them  in  his  close  embrace, 
By  night  his  pillow  is  their  resting  place 
And  with  the  morn  he  laughs  to  find  them  near. 

0  childishness  to  cherish  trifles  so?  ... 
And  yet,  O  lad  of  mine,  could  you  but  know 

1  too  have  treasures  that  I  daily  touch, 
Frail  tokens  but  to  me  they  mean  so  much: 
A  few  sea  shells,  a  boat,  a  pail  once  red  .  .  . 
These  were  his  brother's  tovs  .     .  and  he  is  dead ! 


22 


TO    A    JAPANESE    PRINT 

Above  a  calm  and  argent  sea 

That  shivers  with  the  chill  of  dawn. 

Two  gulls  with  love  for  company 
Speed  on  and  on. 

Small  silhouettes  against  the  light — 
Two  tiny  boats  with  full-set  sails — 

That  fear  no  anguish  of  the  night,, 
No  salt  sea  gales. 

Two  little  huts,  a  humble  sight, 

Rude  vine-clad  homes  of  honest  moil, 

Where  love  abides  by  day  and  night, 
Through  play  and  toil. 

Low  scraggy  trees  of  scented  pine, 

And  towering  high  a  mountain  rears 

Its  snow-crowned  head;  the  pilgrim's  shrine 
Of  love  and  tears ! 

O  swift  sea  gulls!     O  fragile  boats! 

O  humble  homes !     O  fragrant  trees  ! 
Why  do  you  hold  my  heart  like  notes 

That  grieve  and  please? 


23 


I    LOVE    YOU    SO 

I  love  you  so  ... 

That  of  your  many  gifts  but  few  I  crave, 
What  none  may  value,  that  give  me  to  save, 
When  others  are  your  guests,  I'll  be  your  slave; 

I  love  you  so 

That  as  the  changing  days  shall  swell  to  years, 

I  ask  not  for  your  dreams  but  for  your  fears ; 

Not  for  your  kiss,  your  love  .  .  .  but  for  your  tears ! 

When  joy  burns  low 

And  grief  shall  kiss  your  lips  so  drawn  and  white, 

And  age  comes  on  and  twilight  turns  to  night, 

My  plea  is  this:  that  I  may  have  the  right 

To  turn  love's  darkness  into  love's  delight  .  .  . 

I  love  you  so! 


THE    MIRACLE 

Of  human  love  God  took  a  bit 

And   fashioned  it 

A  little  life  and  exquisite. 

You  are  dawn, 

You   are  joy, 
You  are  hope 

Little  boy. 

(Your  eyes — 

Dark  pools  of  sweet  surprise; 

Your   mouth — 

Red  berries   from  the  south!) 

You  are  spring, 

You  are  fears, 
You  are  song, 

You  are  tears. 

(Your  nose — 

A  tiny,  pale  pink  rose; 

Your  hair — 

Soft  silk  and  darkly  fair.) 

You  are  pain, 

You  are  joy, 
You  are  love  .  .  . 

Little  boy. 

O  fragrant  flame  that  God  hath  lit 
Within  my  heart  to  quicken  it, 
You  make  life  sweet  and  exquisite! 
25 


TEARS 

At  twilight  when  I  put  his  toys  away 

My  little  lad's  lip  quivers  and  a  tear 

Gems  each  blue  eye ;  his  heart  is  rent  with  fear 

Lest  when  the  amber  glory  of  the  day 

Illume  his  snow-white  bed  and  call,  "Come  play/' 

He  may  not  find  those  things  his  heart  holds  dear: 

An  old  tin  top ;  a  train  with  broken  gear, 

A  headless  horse  that  once  was  dashing  gay. 

You  smile  at  childish  tears  ?     Lo !  age  hath  toys 
To  which  it  fondly  clings  till  death's  chill  hand 
Puts  them  aside,  and  all  remembered  joys 
Are  wells  of  grief  too  deep  to  understand; 
Yet  as  with  morn  my  lad  finds  fears  were  vain, 
So  death  shall  give  to  age  its  toys  again. 


26 


THE  LITTLE  ROOM 

O  little  room,,  in  your  simplicity, 

The  dearest  spot  in  all  the  world  to  me, 

A  shrine  of  joy  and  keenest  ecstasy. 

A  whitewashed  wall, 

Two  windows  small, 

A  little  bed  .  .  .  and  that  is  all! 
And  yet  within  your  quiet  dark 
My  heart  has  thrilled  like  some  glad  lark 

At  morn  dew-kissed, 

For  I  have  tryst 
With  love  in  golden  lands  of  Arcady. 


27 


THE    SEA 

By  day  the  sea 

Is  a  blue  flower 

With  curling  white  petals, 

And  the  great  ships, 

Speeding  before  the  wind, 

White   moths. 

By  night  the  sea 

Is  a  lover's  garden 

Fragrant  with  silver  memories 

And  the  twinkling  lights 

From  passing  ships, 

Gold  fireflies. 


28 


GIFTS 

0  time  when  your  swift  hours  of  toil  are  spun, 
My  homing  heart  turns  to  its  dwelling-place. 
And  as  the  gate  clicks,  in  the  window's  space 
Is  framed  my  glad  and  golden  hearted  one 
Who  peers  into  the  night  so  chill  and  dun. 

1  turn  the  key  and  swift  with  childish  grace, 
He  runs  to  me  lifting  a  joy-lit  face 

And  cries,  "What  have  you  brought  your  little  son?" 

O  sweet  expectancy,  O  dear  surprise! 
Within  the  House  of  Years  I  watch  and  wait: 
Night's  golden  gondola  skims  western  skies, 
And  soon  a  hand  will  fumble  at  Life's  gate, 
And  I,  impatient,  call  with  eager  breath, 
"Come  in,"  and  then  .  .  .  "What  have  you  brought  me, 
Death?" 


29 


THE    LITTLE    HOUSE 

House  of  one  room  that  doth  no  joy  possess, 
Musty  and  dark  and  damp  and  windowless, 
And  yet  the  anteroom  to  loveliness  .  .  . 

Truth  is  a  guest  within  its  sombre  gloom, 
And  in  the  confines  of  this  silent  room 
Is  the  great  secret  of  decay  and  bloom; 
How  sod  and  sun  and  rain  and  dew  and  snows 
Commingle  in  the  alchemy  that  goes 
Into  the  rapturous  raiment  of  the  rose. 

House  of  one  room  that  doth  no  joy  possess, 
Musty  and  damp  and  dark  and  windowless, 
And  yet  the  anteroom  of  loveliness  .  .  . 
Where  the  soul's  glory  shall  outshine  the  rose. 


30 


THE    UNRETURNING 

Her  yellow  bird  still  wakes  me  with  its  singing; 
Her  books,  dust  covered,  miss  her  daily  touch; 
Morn  after  morn  the  sun,  his  gold  fire  flinging, 
Makes  bright  each  treasured  thing  she  loved  so  much. 
But  where  is  she?     Upon  a  dawn-kissed  hill 
Within  the  sombre  silence  of  the  loam, 
She  who  loved  birds  and  books  and  flowers  and  home. 
Does  she   remember  still  ? 

Her  room  reveals  the  deftness  of  her  finger 
In  curtained  casement  and  in  pictured  wall, 
While  in  a  nook  where  she  so  loved  to  linger, 
Are  half  made  garments  .  .  .  delicate  and  small. 

I  wear  mirth's  mask  to  hide  my  heart's  keen  sadness, 
Lest  I  should  weary  men  with  grief  too  deep 
For  one  who  was  the  fount  of  all  my  gladness, 
For  one  so  sweet  and  young,  who  fell  asleep. 
O  dark-eyed  sleeper  on  the  windblown  hill, 
Waiting  within  the  silence  of  the  loam, 
You  who  loved  life  and  laughter,  song  and  home  .  .  . 
How  can  vou  lie  so  still  ? 


31 


WHITE   HORSES  OF  THE   SEA 

A  mauve-green   sky 

Dotted    with    white   gulls 

Flying  before  a   wind  arrow-keen; 

An  emerald  race   course 

With   hurdles  three  feet  high 

Over  which   racing  towards   the  beach 

In  magnificent  splendor 

Come  the  white  horses  of  the  sea ! 


A  VILLANEL 


O  Columbine,  the  lilacs  blow, 

The  nomad  spring  is  come  again  .  .  . 

Where  is   Pierrot?     Where   is   Pierrot? 

The  wild  plum  blossoms  fall  like  snow, 
And  trembling  in  April  rain, 
O  Columbine,  the  lilacs  blow. 

A  voice  is  still  she  used  to  know, 

Her  heart  is  wrung  with  doubt  and  pain 

Where  is   Pierrot  ?     Where   is   Pierrot  ? 

The  moon  lights  up  with  amber  glow 
A  rustic  bench  where  all  in  vain, 
O   Columbine,  the  lilacs   blow.. 

And  she  who  loved  and  trusted  so 
Echoes  each  night  the  sad  refrain, 
Where  is  Pierrot?  Where  is  Pierrot? 

Dust  are  her  dreams  of  long  ago, 
Of  love  and  spring  and  Castled  Spain ; 
O  Columbine,  the  lilacs  blow  .  .  . 
Where  is   Pierrot?     Where  is   Pierrot? 


THE    WIND 

I  heard  the  wind  rise  in  the  night 
And  call  my  name  in  mocking  tone, 

It  shook  the  house  with  savage  might, 
And  chilled  me  to  the  bone. 

It  screamed  above  the  roofs  of  tin, 

And  laughed  down  lane  and  alley-way 

It  cried  old  sadness  long  locked  in 

My  heart  from  the  white  eye  of  day. 

It  tapped  my  window  pane  and  said 

In  hissing  voice,  "I  know  ...  I  know  .  . 

The  secrets  that  you  thought  long  dead, 
Those  poignant  things  of  fire  and  snow ! 

Thank  God !  the  gossips  slumbered  on 
Nor  heard  that  taunting  voice  so  shrill 

That  told  my  sorrow  to  the  dawn  .  .  . 
The  sorrow  I  had  kept  so  still ! 


34 


DAY 

Morning   is   a  blue-eyed  child 
Restless   and   full  of   play; 
Seeking  lovely  things 
To  delight  the  eye, 
To  thrill   the  fingers, 
To  please  the  taste, 
And  dancing,  dancing 
In  the  warm  sunlight. 

Noon   is   a   golden  maiden 
Wide-eyed,  expectant, 
And   dazzling   in  beauty; 
Searching  for  fairy  dreams  .  .   . 
Longing  for  love,  happiness, 
And  amber  kisses. 

Evening  is   a  gray-clad  woman 

Bent   and   sad   .    .    . 

The  ashes  of  a  fire 

That  burned  too  fiercely  .  .  . 

The   exquisite   silence 

After  song  .  .  . 

The  drooping  petals  of  a  flower 

Blown  awav  at  moontime. 


35 


KINSHIP 

I  never  see  a  new  or  broken  toy 
In  sunlit  window  or  in   corner  dim, 
But  in  the  home  of  love's  forgotten  joy 
I  picture  him. 

I  never  pass  a  smiling  lad  and  small 
In  dingy  doorway  or  in  market-place, 
But   in  the  dusk  of  memory's  silent   hall, 
I  see  his  face. 

I  never  smell  a   rose  or  clover  bloom, 
Or  violet  .  .  .  these  made  his  heart  rejoice  .  .  . 
But  down  love's  corridor  of  scented  gloom 
I  hear  his  voice. 

O  lad  of  mine  ...  a  blossom  in  the  sun. 
Too  frail  to  stand  life's  winds  so  fierce  and  free 
Through  you  my  love  seeks  out  each  little  one 
And  every  father  is  akin  to  me! 


36 


WEALTH 

O  heart  be  thankful ! 

For   no   mighty   king 

Has  half  the  wealth  that  you  possess, 

His  gold  grows  burdensome 

And  dark  with  years ; 

His  silver  tarnishes, 

While  yours  is  ever  new; 

His   gems  grow   dull   with   dust, 

And  often  thieves 

Despoil  his  treasure  house. 

O  heart  look  up ! 

The  turquoise   of  the  sky 

And  all  its  elouds  of  pearl 

Are   yours   and   free. 

Lift   up   your  face 

And  feel  the  cooling  drops 

Of  opal  rain, 

Open  your  hands  and  take  the  sun's  pure  gold, 

Or  hoard  the  shining  silver  of  the  moon  .  .  . 

They  have  no  price. 

See  yonder  violet — 

The  sapphire's  light  is  not  so  sweet, 

While  diamonds  of  the  dawn  gem  every  flower, 

And  ruby  roses  flame  on  stems  of  jade 

Set  round  with  leaves  of  darkest  emerald. 

O  heart  be  thankful 
And  possess  your  own ! 


37 


LOST 

Like  some  lad  wandering  in  the  market-place, 
Who  seeks  in  vain  a  friendly  face, 

I  saw  the  moon 

At  noon, 

So  wan  and  white, 

Lost  in  the  brightness  of  the  sky's  blue  light. 
Seeking  some  friendly  face  she  knew  by  night, 
But  in  the  rush  of  toil  forgotten  quite. 


38 


HOW    VAST    IS    HEAVEN? 

How  vast  is  Heaven? — Lo,  it  will  fit 
In  any  space  you  give  to  it  ... 
So  broad— it  takes  in  all  things  true; 
So  narrow — it  can  hold  but  you. 


A    WATER    COLOR 

The  wind  is  scattering  the  pearls  of  rain, 
Pearls  great  and  small,  pallid  and  twilight-toned; 
The  greedy  fingers  of  the  sleepy  town 
Are  hoarding  them  in  pools  and  rivulets 
That  gleam  and  glisten  with  a  silvery  light. 
The  arc-light,  like  a  moon  half  hid  by  mists 
Rising  above  dark  willows  on  the  Seine, 
Edges  with  living  light  the  dripping  trees 
And  shadows  them  upon  the  cool  wet  street 
In  gray-green  colors  and  so  exquisite 
That  they  would  charm  the  heart  of  dear  Corot. 


40 


THE   SCALES   OF  LOVE 

You  weighed  my  love  and  thought  it  light, 
While  yours  was  like  a  strong  oak  tree, 
But  who  can  judge  the  ocean's  might 
From   sailing  on  an  inland  sea? 

Gray  years  have  left  ray  love  the  same, — 
Its  rugged  strength  I   would  not  boast — 
While  yours, — but  should  I  chide  or  blame,- 
A  castaway  on  some  dark  coast. 


41 


THE    NOMAD    STRAIN 

Spring  lured  me  to  the  woods  today 

And  O  what  beauty  met  my  eyes; 
A  shallow  vale  before  me  lay 

Like   some   enchanted   Paradise ; 
Iri  lacy  fern  my  feet  sank  deep, 

And  all  around  pale  violets  grew. 
While  dragonflies   were   still   asleep 

On  tender  leaves  of  emerald  hue. 

Small  marigolds  gleamed  in  the  grass, 

The  daisies  nodded  in  the  breeze ; 
A  little  lake  that  shone  like  glass 

Was  hiding  under  myrtle  trees ; 
While  in  a  dogwood,  white  and   sweet, 

A  mocking  bird,  in  motley  dress, 
Sang  to  his  mate  in  her  retreat, 

His  song  of  love  and  tenderness. 

I   watched  pale  lily  buds  unfold, 

I   gathered  many  a  flower  and  leaf ; 
I  saw  a  squirrel  stir  the  mould 

To  hide  his  dinner  .  .  .  cunning  thief, 
O'erhead  the  warm,  gold  sunlight  shone, 

Noon  touched  the  woods  with  soft  caress, 
And  I  alone,  seemed  not  alone 

With  so  much  life  and  loveliness ! 


42 


EVENTIDE 

Deep   in  the  woods  one  day  in  spring 
I   passed  a  hut  that  seemed  so  poor, 
With  just  a  little  garden  round, 
And  lilacs  blooming  by  the  door. 

Upon  the  step  a  woman  sat, 
A  little  babe  upon  her  knee, 
Around  her  feet  there  played  a  child 
Whose  age,  I  think,  was  nearly  three. 

And  as  I  looked,  adown  the  path, 
In  homespun  clad  there  came  a  man, 
And   as   he  neared  the  open  door 
The  little  child  to  meet  him  ran. 

The  man  bent  down  and  took  the  child 
(Whose  prattle  sounded,  O  so  sweet), 
And  bore  it  to  the  hut  and  put 
It  down  beside  the  woman's  feet. 

And  bending  low  he  kissed  her  brow, 
Lifted  the  babe  from  her  embrace, — 
He  kissed  its  tiny  dimpled  cheek, 
And  joy  shone  in  the  woman's  face. 

And  as  I  looked  there  came  to  me 
A  peace  that  made  the  hut  seem  fair; 
Because  I  knew  'twas  Arcady; 
Because  I  knew  that  love  lived  there ! 


43 


RECOMPENSE 

All  that  we  say  returns, 

The  bitter  word  or  sweet; 

Days,  weeks  or  years  may  intervene, 

But  soon  or  late 

The  spoken  word  and  speaker  meet. 

All  that  we  do  returns, 

The  deed  that's  true  or  base 

We  may  forget,  but  all  unseen 

And  parallel 

The  doer  and  the  deed  keep  pace. 


ADMIRATION 

A  crystal  pool  beneath  a  sky 

As  blue  as  Italian  waters, 

A   young,  green   oak 

Bending  so  low 

That  its  leaves 

Kiss  the  cool  mirror 

In  which  are  reflected 

The  strength   and  beauty 

Of  the  strong  tree  .  .  . 

A  forest  Narcissus 

In  love  with  his  own  image. 


45 


TO   ONE    AWAY 

Her  feet  that  daily  trod  rough  paths  and  steep 
Are  treading  now  green   ways  and  kind  as   sleep; 
Her  hands  that  never  shirked  an  humble  task, 
Are  filled  with  all  the  joyous  toil  they  ask. 

Her  eyes  that  saw  the  fair  in  everything 
Now  see  the  glorious  miracle  of  spring. 
Her  gentle  voice  that  charmed  the  heart  of  me 
Is  now  a  lyric  fount  of  melody. 

Her  glad,  glad  heart  .  .  .  once  bound  by  time  and  tide 
Has  burst  its  bounds,  is  free  and  satisfied. 
And  her  pure  soul  ...  a  chalice  white  with  truth 
O'erflows  with  wonderment  and  joy  and  youth  .  .  . 
For  this  I  know!     God  is  a  Kingly  Host 
Giving  His  guest  those  things  she  loved  the  most ! 


46 


LILACTIME 

'Tis  time  the  lilacs  were  in  bloom 

But   spring   is   late ! 

O  house  of  life,  and  chill  with  gloom, 

'Tis  time  the  lilacs  were  in  bloom 

To  lure  love  with  their  old  perfume 

Close  to  my  gate. 

'Tis  time  the  lilacs  were  in  bloom 

But  spring  is  late! 


"IF  YOU  WOULD  BE  MY  FRIEND" 

If  you  would  be  my  friend  as  I  am  yours, 
I  beg  you  give  no  costly  gifts  to  me 
Of  gold  or  gems  or  jade  or  ivory  .  .  . 
For  love  that  needs  such  gifts  never  endures. 
What  would  I  have?     In  yellow  sun  or  rain 
To  hear  your  voice  in  all  its  tenderness; 
And  in  my  hours  of  gloom  or  deep  distress 
Your  strong  hand-clasp  to  help  me  bear  the  pain. 
And  when  you  talk  I  want  no  smooth  veneer 
To  hide  the  honest  things  you  have  to  say ; 
Tell  me  the  truth  and  should  it  cost  a  tear, 
I  can  be  sad  awhile.     Some  other  day 
You'll  free  my  heart  of  all  its  ache  and  sting 
And  in  my  snowbound  soul  will  come  the  spring! 


48 


LOVELIGHT 

Some  flowers  there  are  that  love  the  sun 

And  open  only  to  his  kiss ; 
While  others  sleep  till  day  is  done, 

They  think  the  moon  more  lovely  is, 
Your  smile  is  sunshine  warm  and  bright, 

Your  frown  is  moonlight  chill  and  white, 
But  could  I  bask  in  either  one, 

My  heart's   red   petals  folded  tight 

Would  burst  with  such  a  dear  delight 
'Twould  shame  the  flowers  of  moon  or  sun. 


49 


Autumn,  autumn,  you  thought  not  I  was  spying 
When   you   laid   your  hand   caressingly   on   summer's 

sleeping  head, 

But  I  saw  her  start  and  shiver, 
And  I  saw  her  wake  and  quiver, 
For  your  touch  was  chill  as  snowtime 
Though  your  mouth  was  flaming  red. 

Autumn,  autumn,  you  did  not  think  I  saw  you 

When  you   crept  among  the  grasses   and  swayed  them 

with  your  breath, 

When  the  wildflowers  bent  to  greet  you, 
And  the  trees  reached  out  to  meet  you, 
For  they  thought  your  touch  was  beauty, 
But  they  found  your  kiss  was  death ! 

Autumn,  autumn,  I  hate  you  and  love  you, 

For  with   all   your   flame   and   passion  you   are  nothing 

but  a  thief, 

Though  you  thrill  like  spring's  soft  magic, 
You're  a  lover  old  and  tragic, 
And  your  gorgeous  gold  and  crimson 
But  a  cover  for  love's  grief. 


50 


LIFE'S   DAY 

Darkness, 
Then  dawn 
And  dew. 

Morning, 
Glad  skies 
Of  blue 

Noonday, 
A  flower 
Joy-bright. 

Sunset  .  .  . 
Dead  leaves 
And  night. 


51 


THE  INTRUDER 

You  may  clothe  your  form  in  a  monk's  soft  gown. 
You  may  hide  yourself  in  a  lonely  cell; 
You  may  let  sweet  service  your  memory  drown 
And  try  to  forget  where  love's  people  dwell. 

You  may  penance  your  body  with  thorn  and  knout, 
You  may  bar  your  doors  with  bolts  strong  and  new. 
But  there's  one  intruder  you  can't  keep  out ! 
Love  comes  when  he  wills  and  smiles  with  you. 


52 


THE  RED  WOMAN 

O  woman  with  the  coral  lips,  O  woman  with  the  eyes 

of  jade, 

Come  not  between  my  soul  and  God ! 
You   are  like   lightning  beautiful   and   round  my  heart 

your  flame  has  played, 
O  woman  with  the  coral  lips,  O  woman  with  the  eyes 

of  jade, 
You  are  the  candle,   I  the  moth  and  of  your  power   I 

am  afraid 
When  moonlight  silvers  sea  and  sod. 

O  woman  with  the  coral  lips,  O  woman  with  the  eyes 

of  jade, 
Come  not  between  my  soul  and  God! 


'AS  ONE  GROWN  TIRED  OF  LIVING' 

As  one  grown  tired  of  living, 

(A  coward  in  the  strife,) 

Waits  not  Imperial  Summons, 

But  dares  to  take  his  life ; 

So  in  the  sky's  dark  distance 

Sometime  through  fiery  pride, 

A  star  comes  falling  .   .   .   falling  .  .   . 

A  Heavenly  suicide! 


54 


KNOWLEDGE 

Lies 

Are  black  vultures, 

Carrion  fed, 

That  foul 

The  air. 

Truths, 

Milk-white   doves 
Serene  and  sweet 
And  oh, 
So  fair. 


55 


THE   POET 

I  am  a  poet. 

By  day  I  sing  of  trees  in  flower, 

Emerald  gardens  red  and  amber  tinted 

And  dreamy  runnels 

Beneath  blue  skies,  or  skies 

Snow  clouded. 

My  home  is  a  tenement, 
My  garden  the  asphalt  street, 
My  skies  factory  smoked, 
My  runnels  dark  water 
In  the  city's  gutters. 

I  am  a  poet. 

By  night  I  sing  of  the  yellow  stars, 

The  cold  white  wonder  of  the  moon, 

The  bliss  of  love 

And  of  lovers. 

Tall  buildings  shut  me  from  the  skies, 
In  my  window  the  stars  never  twinkle, 
Nor  the  moon  shows  her  silver  face, 
And  love  is  a  stranger 
Who  has  never  thought  me  worthy 
Of  notice. 

I  am  a  poet ! 


56 


WHAT  WOULD  YOU  GIVE? 

If  you  should  meet  upon  the  street 
Love  like  a  beggar,  asking  alms, 

And  he  should  stand  with  pleading  hand 

What  would  you  put  within  his  palms? 

The  widow's  mite?  The  samite  white? 

The  yellow  rose  from  other  lands? 
Or  hurry  by  with  downcast  eye? 

Or  stoop  and  kiss  love's  open  hands? 


57 


KINGS 

"They  perish  all  but  He  remains." 

Omar  Khayyam. 

Who  hath  not  marvelled  at  the  might  of  Kings 
When  voyaging  down  the  river  of  dead  years? 
What  deeds  of  death  to  still  an  hour  of  fears, 
What  waste  of  wealth  to  gild  a  moth's  frail  wings? 
A  Caesar  to  the  wind  his  banner  flings, 
An  Alexander  with  his  bloody  spears, 
A  Herod  heedless  of  his  people's  tears ! 
And  Rome  is  flames  while  Nero  laughs  and  sings : 

Ye  gilded  actors  of  a  drama  old 
Your  names  are  by-words  in  Love's  temple  now, 
Your  pomp  and  glory  but  a  winding  sheet; 
Then  Christ  came  scorning  regal  robes  and  gold, 
To  wear  warm  blood-drops  on  a  willing  brow, 
And  lo !  in  love,  we  stoop  and  kiss  His  feet. 


58 


THE  LENGTH  OF  A  NIGHT 

With  anguished  heart  one  crouched  beside 
A  form,  sheet-covered,  cold  and  numb; 
Night  seemed  a  never  ebbing  tide, 
The  white,  white  day  so  slow  to  come. 

In  love's  embrace  one  found  but  this: 
That  night  was  done  before  he  slept, 
He  cursed  .   .   .  and  cursing  lost  a  kiss   .   . 
The  dawn  that  through  the  window  crept. 


59 


ZION  STILL  IS  WELL  BELOVED 

I  dreamed  an  angel  came  with  shining  face, 

Waked  me,  and  whispered,  "This  great  truth  record: 

Once  more  will  I  show  mercy,  saith  the  Lord, 

Unto  My  people,  My  beloved  race: 

Say  to  the  people  of  all  tongues  and  caste, 

The  day  prophetic  dawns !  The  gentile's  reign  is  past. 

"Long  have  my  people  felt  My  anger  burn, 

Long  have  their  backs  been  bowed  'neath  lash  and  load: 

Long  have  they  trod  a  weary,  painful  road, 

But  now  to  them  I  will  My  love  return 

And  bring  them  with  rejoicing  home  at  last!" 

The  fig-tree  buds !     The  gentile's  reign  is  past ! 

"Their  bones  have  called  Me  from  the  ice  and  sleet; 
Their  tears  have  flowed  to  Me  a  mighty  flood ; 
Their  pains  have  pierced  Me  when  their  backs  ran  blood, 
Their  prayers  have  reached  Me  from  the  iron's  white 

heat; 

No  more  will  they  be  alien  and  outcast, 
The  day  prophetic  dawns !  The  gentile's  reign  is  past ! 

"Once  more  will  I  the  gentile's  conquest  stem 
And  Israel  be  led  by  My  strong  hand 
Back  to  that  long  forsaken,  promised  land, 
Where  they  will  build  a  New  Jerusalem ! 
The  crescent  in  the  east  has  waned  at  last ! 
The  fig-tree  buds !  The  gentile's  reign  is  past !" 


60 


LOWLANDS 

I  never  loved  high  hills  whose  rough  peaks  reach 
Up  through  the  clouds  and  strive  to  touch  the  sky; 
Give  me  low  sand  dunes  where  the  seabirds  cry — 
The  lyric  sound  of  surf  upon  the  beach. 

And  when  soft  twilight  spills  its  shadows  gray, 
Hills  cannot  bring  such  soothing  peace  to  me 
As  ships  returning  home  from  over  sea, — 
And  little  boats  safe  anchored  in  the  bay. 


61 


NIGHTFALL 

The  western  sky  is  like  a  disk  of  beaten  copper  clouded 
with  dark  smoke  of  steamers  going  northward. 

The  surface  of  the  Chesapeake  is  broken  by  ripples 
like  silver  fish  pursued  by  an  enemy. 

Chill  is  the  breeze  from  the  east,  sharp  with  the  tang 
of  salt  and  keen  with  the  odor  of  pine  trees. 

In  the  tall  buildings  lights  appear  like  glad  faces 
screened  behind  dark  veils  and  latticework. 

And  as  the  brass  tone  of  the  sky  dies  into  lead,  the 
yellow  eyes  of  the  harbour  gleam  in  the  darkness. 

Beneath  the  bright  lights  of  the  curving  and  narrow 
streets  there  is  a  confusion  of  cars,  wagons  and 
people. 

But  in  the  suburbs  .  .  .  gold  lamps  are  placed  in  small 
windows  where  love  with  smiling  face  is  waiting 
the  evening  tryst. 


EASTER 

Morning 

And  a  city  street 

Yellow  with  laughing  sunshine; 

A  crepe-clad  woman 

Old  and  feeble 

Tottering  beneath  the  weight 

Of  dazzling  white  lilies. 

Life  and  death  .   .   . 

Dust  and  Immortality! 


LOSS 

Well  I  remember  with  what  keen  delight 
We  watched  spring's  magic  wake  the  sleeping  earth, 
And  clothe  bare  boughs  with  blossoms  pink  and  white, 
Till  mating  birds  grew  mad  with  lyric  mirth. 

'Tis  April  once  again  and  potent  still 
The  charm  of  spring  and  all  it  brings  to  me, 
Yet  joy  is  pain,  for  on  a  pine-dark  hill 
She  bides  with  death  in  his  chill  hostelry. 


THE  RECORD  OF  THE  AGES 

The  fingers  of  the  Recording  Angel 

Are   weary  with  writing; 

The  golden  pages  of  the  account  book 

Are  heavy  with  names ; 

The  song  of  the  angels  is  so  faint 

That  above  it  can  be  heard 

The  wail  of  the  dying. 

Suddenly  the  music  stops  and  God's  voice 

Breaks  the  heavy  silence. 

"Read  me^  O  angel  of  the  ceaseless  writing, 

The  number  of  souls  slain  by  hate, 

And  the  number  of  souls  saved  by  love." 

But  the  angel  does  not  answer; 
He  is  behind  with  his  posting. 


65 


LOVE'S  TELLING 

Love  is  a  tale  so  sweet,  so  brief, 

But  Oh!  the  telling! 
Sappho  found  it  a  tardy  thief  .  .  . 
Love  is  a  tale  so  sweet,  so  brief, 
Dante  dreamed  it  of  all  things  chief, 

A  quest  impelling. 
Love  is  a  tale  so  sweet,  so  brief, 

But  Oh!  the  telling! 


66 


THE   FAITHFUL  MESSENGER 

How  do  I  know  the  spring  is  come? 
Still  snowbound  is  my  heart  and  numb. 
I  heard  one  crying  in  the  street, 
"Lilacs,  white  lilacs,  who  will  buy?" 
And  lo !  my  city  room  grew  sweet 
With  fragrant  memories.     Life's  dark  sky 
Grew  blue  .   .   .  and  O,  I  saw  again  .  .  . 
Youth  .  .  .  love  and  lilacs  bowed  with  rain ! 


67 


TO  A  CAGED  LINNET 

He's  a  saucy  little  fellow 
In  a  coat  of  black  and  yellow, 
And  his  eyes  are  like  the  seeds 
Of  the  rape  on  which  he  feeds. 
He  has  slender  clay-hued  feet, 
And  the  seven  notes  are  sweet 
Which  he  puts  into  the  song 
That  he  warbles  all  day  long. 

Bound  by  bars  of  shining  brass, 
Does  he  miss  the  dewy  grass? 
Does  he  miss  the  rain-pools  chill 
And  the  trees  that  crowd  the  hill? 
And  the  flowers  sweet  and  wise, 
Does  he  miss  their  soft  round  eyes? 
And  the  sandy  paths  that  go 
In  and  out  where  trees  bend  low, 
Does  he  miss  their  winding  way 
Where  the  little  insects  play? 
And  the  winds  that  shake  the  trees, 
Does  he  long  to  fly  with  these? 


Little  singing  captive  tame, 
Spring  and  winter  are  the  same 
To  you  in  your  house  of  brass, 
Where  your  days  so  quickly  pass. 
Summer  brings  no  awful  heat^ 
Winter  flings  no  frozen  sleet 
In  your  even  tempered  zone 
Where  you  live  your  life  alone, 
Whistling,  warbling  all  day  long 
With  your  seven  notes  of  song, 
Singing  all  your  life  away 
Just  to  make  your  jailer  gay. 


THE  GUEST  DENIED 

At  starlight  to  my  dwelling-place, 

A  stranger  came  to  sup  with  me ; 
His  voice  was  sweet  but  passion-free, 

And  sad  his  face. 

And  when  the  evening's  meal  was  done, 
We  sought  the  fire's  genial  blaze, 
But  all  his  words  were  chill  as  days 

That  know  no  sun. 

He  lingered  till  the  crescent  moon 

Had  climbed  the  sombre  stairs  of  night, 
And  then  with  quivering  lips  and  white, 

He  begged  this  boon: 

That  through  life's  sunsets  touched  with  fire, 
Or  silvery  mist,  or  twilight  dim, 
I  would  yield  up  my  heart  to  him 

For  his  desire. 

But  I  had  dreamed  of  love  as  this ; — 

A  radiant  prince,  all  jewel-clad, 

Whose  sensuous  mouth   would  make   me  glad 
To  crave  a  kiss  ! 

My  will  to  swoon  beneath  his  sway, 
My  heart  to  leap  at  his  command 
And  wait  the  kneading  of  his  hand 

Like  plastic  clay. 


70 


But  this  plain  stranger,  chill  and  white, 

Who  seemed  my  dearest  dreams  to  flout, 
I  hated ;  so  I  bade  him  out 

Into  the  night. 

O  anguish  of  the  bitter  years, 

O  little  ghosts  of  things  too  sweet, 
Today  I  yearn  to  kiss  love's  feet 

And  dry  his  tears. 

For  lo,  my  heart  with  grief  is  numb, 
Each  pale  regret  is  keen  with  pain; 
And  where  is  Love?     I  call  in  vain, 

He  will  not  come! 


71 


COLUMBINE 

A  toothless  woman,  bent  and  grim, 
Whose  face  is  seamed  with  line  on  line, 
Dreams  in  her  chimney  corner  dim 
Of  days  when  she  was  Columbine. 

Her  once  dark  hair  is  thin  and  gray, 
And  pale  her  lips  that  were  as  wine, 
Her  sunken  cheeks  are  as  the  clay — 
Old  age,  thy  name  is  Columbine. 

Her  limbs  have  lost  their  symmetry, 
Her  eyes  are  dull  like  sleepy  kine, 
Her  palsied  hands  rest  on  her  knee — 
Who  now  remembers  Columbine? 

How  fleet  the  years  when  life  is  young 
And  man  and  maid  find  life  divine ! 
How  slow,  when  life's  glad  songs  are  sung: 
Dream  on  ...  dream  on,  O  Columbine! 

Where  is  Pierrot — whose  kiss  was  sweet, 
Whose  mouth  was  as  the  cypress-vine; 
Who  nightly  danced  with  willing  feet, 
And  arms  entwining  Columbine? 


72 


O  youth,  who  look  with  pitying  eye 
On  age,,  the  lees  of  life's  bright  wine, 
You,  too,  must  feel  the  years  drift  by; 
You,  too,  grow  old  like  Columbine. 

A  toothless  woman,  bent  and  grim, 
Whose  face  is  seamed  with  line  on  line, 
Dreams  in  her  chimney  corner  dim 
Of  days  when  she  was  Columbine. 


73 


BROADWAY  IN  A  FOG 

Grotesque  shadows  of  vehicles  and  people 

Gliding  over  smooth  asphalt, 

Gray  mists   blotting  out  the  towering  buildings, 

While  the  yellow  lights 

In  the  high  windows 

Are  like  fireflies 

Caught  in  a  net  of  silver. 


74 


THE  TEST 

How  easy  'tis  to  love  at  night 
Beneath  a  big  moon  round  and  white, 
Or  walking  on  some  flowery  lea, 
Or  sending  dreamships  out  to  sea, 
Or  in  some  garden  quaint  and  old, 
To  know  the  joy  red  lips  may  hold, 
Or  near  her  window,  like  Pierrot, 
Waiting  the  rose  her  hands  may  throw, 

But  in  the  petty  toil  of  day 
How  chill  is  love  and  far  away. 


75 


PRISONERS 

My  heart  is  like  a  captive  bird, 
A  prisoner  with  untried  wing, 
Too  sad  to  sing. 

My  heart  is  a  forgotten  rose, 

Choked  by  the  weeds  and  lost  in  gloom, 
Too  sick  to  bloom. 

Come,  love,  and  set  the  captive  free 

And  bid  him  mate  and  soar  and  sing; 
And  kiss  the  drooping  rose  and  bring 
Joy's  blossoming. 


76 


THE  PIPES  O'  PAN 

I  strayed  into  the  woods  today, 

My  heart  throbbed  with  the  joy  of  spring, 
My  voice  was  singing  all  the  way 

Like  happy  bird  on  joyous  wing: 
Warm  yellow  sunshine  filled  the  air, 

Upon  my  face  I  felt  the  tan, 
And  I  forgot  all  toil  and  care  .   .   . 

For  lo!     I  heard  the  Pipes  o'  Pan! 

I  listened  with  my  heart  athrill 

To  some  faint  sound  from  place  remote, 
That  came  to  me  across  the  hill, 

From  laughing  lips  and  swelling  throat; 
Its  melody  was  like  the  dawn  .   .   . 

Star-gemmed  and  new  .   .   .     towards  it  I  ran 
Lured  by  its  sweetness  on  and  on  ... 

The  silvery  sounding  Pipes  o'  Pan! 

They  say  Pan's  dead — (wise  men  who  know) — 

And  I  have  never  seen  his  face 
Though  I  have  sought  where  lilies  blow 

And  fern  and  sedges  interlace; 
But  in  the  woods,  'neath  elm  and  yew, 

There  dwell  strange  things  unknown  to  man — 
Let  others  doubt — this  thing  is  true! 

That  I  have  heard  the  Pipes  o'  Pan. 


77 


TIME 

Time  is  a  golden  drink  within  a  cup 

Hallowed  by  God  and  called  Eternity; 

The  years  are  thirsty  mouths  that  crave  and  sup 

Despair  and  faith  and  mirth  and  misery. 

Is  the  drink  endless?     Or  on  some  dread  day 
Shall  fair  lips  parch  and  wither  wanting  wine? 
God  filled  the  cup  and  only  He  can  say, 
"Drink  deep,  O  years,  nor  guess  at  my  design!" 


78 


THE  LIVING  LIE 

I  dreamed  last  night  an  angel  touched  my  face, 

Bent  low  and  questioned.     "Is  your  life  like  this: 

Daily  to  hold  love  in  your  strong  embrace 

And  feel  upon  your  mouth  the  burning  kiss, 

The  keenest  and  the  sweetest  joy  there  is?" 

I  answered.     "Xay,  I  have  not  known  such  bliss!' 

I  woke:  close  by  my  side  and  peacefully 
Slumbered  that  one  whose  kiss  is  dear  delight, 
Whose  love  has  crowned  my  life  with  ecstasy 
And  led  my  feet  in  narrow  paths  and  white. 
How  could  I  answer  if  at  morning  bright 
Death  came  and  said,  "You  lied  to  me  last  night !' 


79 


INTENTIONS 

So  many  things  I  meant  to  say 

To  please,  to  praise,  to  make  you  glad ; 

Such  splendid  chances  have  I  had 

And  yet  I  let  them  slip  away; 

And  now  in  shame  I  bow  my  head 

For  moments  lost  and  words  unsaid. 

So  many  deeds  I  planned  to  do 

To  ease  the  road  of  your  behest, 

But  while  I  loitered  taking  rest 

Another  hand  has  aided  you ; 

And  now  my  heart  is  pricked  with  pain 

For  castles  reared  and  wrecked  in  vain. 

So  many  songs  I  meant  to  sing 

To  spur  you  on  to  greater  heights, 

To  cheer  you  on  those  lonely  nights 

When  faith  is  weak  and  hope  takes  wing; 

But  while  I  tarried  with  my  song 

Your  struggling  soul  grew  true  and  strong. 

Without  my  words  you  reached  your  goal. 
Without  my  help  you  won  your  fight ; 
Without  my  song  you  chose  the  right 
And  love  and  beauty  clothe  your  soul. 
Today  my  path  is  rough  and  long  .   .   . 
I  need  your  words,  your  deeds,  your  song! 


80 


"THE  PRIEST  IS  COME  AND  THE  TAPERS 
BURN" 

The  white  moth  is  wooing  his  chosen  mate, 
The  birds  have  a  nest  in  the  weed  and  fern, 
But,  love,  you  knock  at  my  heart  too  late, 
The  priest  is  come  and  the  tapers  burn. 

(Where  were  you,  love,  when  the  morning 

was   heavy   with   mating? 
And  in  the  noontime  before  life's 

dear   dreams  had  departed? 
Why  did  you  tarry  when  twilight 

was  poignant  with  waiting? 
Lo !  now  it  is  midnight  .  .  .  pale  sleeptime  .  .  . 

and  I  am  chill  hearted!) 

The  moonflower  bends  with  the  moth's  frail  weight, 
The  birds  are  asleep  in  the  grass  and  fern, 
But,  love,  you  knock  at  my  heart  too  late, 
The  priest  is  come  and  the  tapers  burn  ! 


81 


THE  VEILED  ANGEL 

Death  is  no  monster  seeking  prey 
Of  old  and  young  and  rich  and  poor; 
He  but  removes  life's  mask  of  clay 
And  from  time's  prison  tears  the  door. 

His  touch  is  neither  harsh  nor  cold_, 
His  soothing  voice  is  strong  with  truth ; 
He  speaks — and  youth  stops  growing  old. 
And  age  regains  its  vanished  youth. 


82 


NEVER  REST  STREET 

In  a  little  white  house  in  Never-Rest  Street, 
A  woman  was  busy  from  morning  till  night 

With  washing  and  scrubbing, 

And  cleaning  and  rubbing, 
To  sweep  out  the  dust;  to  keep  out  the  dust; 

For  her  all  life's  reaping 

Was  dusting  and  keeping 
The  little  white  house  in  Never-Rest  Street. 

In  a  little  gray  house  in  Ever-Rest  Street 
A  woman  is  quiet  from  darkness  till  day; 

No  washing  nor  scrubbing, 

Nor  brushing  nor  rubbing — 
Now  done  with  the  dust  ?    No,  one  with  the  dust, 

For  chill  lips  have  found  her, 

And  strong  arms  have  bound  her, 
In  the  little  gray  house  in  Ever-Rest  Street! 


83 


INCONSISTENCY 

Not  dead,  you  say? 

Your  friend  who  walking  fast 

Earth's  farthest  boundary  forever  past 

While  you  yet  stay 

This  side  the  portal  dim, 

Though  needing  him. 

Then  why  your  tears,  and  why  your  sad  pale  face? 

And  sombre  dress  of  crepe  and  lace? 

If  he  be  living  in  some  lovely  place 

Within  whose  zone 

Parting  is  all  unknown, 

Where  age  is  changed  to  youth, 

And  doubt  is  lost  in  truth, 

And  love  and  joy  walk  hand  in  hand  with  spring, 

Beneath  a  nightless  sky  forever  blue, — 

Why  not  wear  garments  of  a  happy  hue? 

Why  not  let  pealing  bell 

The  good  news  tell? 

Why  not  be  glad  and  clap  your  hands  and  sing? 


84 


FAITH 

In  every  leaf  that  crowns  the  plain, 
In  every  violet  'neath  the  hill, 
In  every  yellow  daffodil  .  .  . 

I  see  the  risen  Lord  again  ! 

In  each  arbutus  flower  I  see 

A  faith  that  lived  through  frost  and  snow, 
And  in  the  birds  that  northward  go 

A  guiding  hand's  revealed  to  me. 

Lo  !  winter  from  some  dark  abyss 

Came  forth  to  kill  all  growing  things  ; 
'Twas  vain,  spring  rose  on  emerald  wings, 

Moth-like,  from  her  dead  chrysalis. 

Each  germ  within  the  tiny  seed 

Throws  off  the  husk  that  to  it  clings, 
And  towards  the  sun  it  upward  brings 

New  life  to  blossom  to  its  need. 

Ye  hearts  that  mourn  rise  up  and  sing  ! 

Death  hath  no  power  to  hold  its  prey, 
The  grave  is  only  where  we  lay 

The  soul,  for  its  Eternal  Spring! 

In  every  leaf  that  crowns  the  plain, 

In  every  violet  'neath  the  hill, 

In  every  yellow  daffodil  .   .   . 
I  see  the  risen  Lord  again  ! 


85 


HER  DWELLING  PLACE 

Above  her  grave  the  morning  sun 

Piles  high  his  bars  of  yellow  gold; 

Around  her  grave  the  squirrels  run 
To  bury  acorns  in  the  mould; 

But  she  who  sleeps  there  knows  she  this, 

Whose  lips  were  red  and  sweet  to  kiss? 

(Ere  death  found  out  our  try  sting  place 

And  took  her  in  his  chill  embrace!) 

I  know  not  .   .   .  but  this  thing  I  know: 
That  she  who  loved  me  long  ago 

And  now  sleeps  on  a  wind-kissed  hill, 

She  died  loving  me  .  .  .     and  so  ... 

She  loves  me  still. 

Above  her  grave  the  faint  perfume 
Is  wafted  by  the  evening  breeze; 

Night's  golden  lamps  the  dusk  illume 

And  glimmer  through  the  willow  trees ; 

But  she  who  sleeps  there  knows  she  this, 

Whose  dear,  sweet  face  I  daily  miss? 

(Whom  death  sought  out  in  life's  young  day 

And  bore  her  from  my  love  away!) 

I  know  not  .  .  .  but  this  thing  I  know: 
That  she  who  loved  in  sun  or  snow 

And  now  sleeps  on  a  lonely  hill, 

She  died  loving  me  .  .  .     and  so  ... 

She  loves  me  still. 


86 


O  little  turf-bound  house  of  rest 

On  which  the  summer  sun  shines  bright, 
Or  winter's  snow,  at  God's  behest, 

Wraps  you  in  raiment  pure  and  white; 
O  little  sleeper  know  you  this 
That  grief  my  sole  companion  is? 
(For  though  I  guard  your  dwelling-place 
Death  folds  you  in  his  chill  embrace!) 

Dear  laughing  lass  .   .   .  this  thing  I  know: 

God  gave  you  to  me  long  ago 
And  though  death  sought  our  love  to  kill, 

You  died  loving  me  .  .  .     and  so  ... 
You  love  me  still. 


87 


BEREAVEMENT 

O  mocking  bird,  put  by  your  song, 

For  she  who  thought  it  sweet  is  fled; 

And  though  your  notes  be  pure  and  strong, 
Can  lyric  beauty  charm  the  dead? 

O  rose,  put  by  your  colors  bright, 

For  lo!  her  eyes  are  sealed  with  clay; 

Go  robe  yourself  in  raiment  white, 
Or  let  your  petals  drop  away. 

O  sky,  forget  your  azure  hue, 

Let  each  white  cloud  be  black  as  night, 
So  dark  no  star  may  glimmer  through, 

Nor  sun  give  warmth  nor  moon  give  light ! 

O  time,  be  swift  to  burn  away 

Life's  oil  of  tears  that  tells  of  pain, 
And  bring  that  glad  eternal  day 

When  I  shall  know  her  lips  again! 


88 


A  GRAVE 

A  grave  seems  only  six  feet  deep 

And  three  feet  wide, 
Viewed  with  the  calculating  eye 

Of  one  outside. 

But  when  fast  bound  in  the  chill  loam 

For  that  strange  sleep. 
Who  knows  how  wide  its  realm  may  be? 

Its  depths,  how  deep? 


SAFE  IS  MY  TREASURE 

Only  one  treasure  have  I ;  others  hold 
Great  chests  or  caskets  full  of  priceless  things, 
Rare  uncut  gems,  and  many  antique  rings 
Of  strange  design ;  and  precious  heirlooms  old, 
Or  quaint  hand-carven  silver,  coins  of  gold, 
Or  pearls  or  amber  beads  on  slender  strings, 
But  ah,  my  heart  to  no  such  treasure  clings, 
Mine  being  more  that  these  a  thousandfold. 

The  treasure  passing  dear  to  me  is  this: 
Her  dying  lips  gave  unto  mine  a  kiss, 
A  kiss  that  I  shall  treasure  and  shall  keep 
Until  I  lay  me  down  for  my  last  sleep, 
Until  in  lands  beyond  the  morning  skies 
I  give  it  back  to  her  in  Paradise. 


THE  DEAD 


Today  he  knows  a  secret 
And  will  not  tell  it  to  me. 

Since  childhood  have  we  been  friends, 

We  have  swapped  marbles  and  tops, 

Sailed  the  same  kite, 

Eaten  from  the  same  apple, 

Shared  our  early  joys  and  told  our  little  sorrows. 

Between  us  never  has  there  been  a  dark  day 

Nor  a  mysterious  pleasure  untold; 

Through  youth  and  manhood 

Have  we  been  as  David  and  Jonathan. 

We  have  dreamed  together, 

Toiled,  laughed  and  loved  .  .  . 

Yet  today  he  knows  a  secret 
And  will  not  tell  it  to  me. 


91 


BON  VOYAGE 

I  heard  the  noisy  cable  slip, 

I  felt  the  pressure  of  warm  hands ; 
Glad  voices  cried,  "A  happy  trip," 

As  I  set  out  for  other  lands. 
Nor  tears,  nor  sadness  marred  the  day 
That  bore  me  from  my  friends  away. 

Some  day  I'll  make  another  trip 

The  longest  voyage  ever  made; 

Death's  hand  will  let  the  cable  slip 

And  guide  me  through  the  sea  of  shade. 

Weep  not  ye  friends  that  round  me  stand, 

Bid  me  "God  speed!"  and  press  my  hand. 


92 


PREVISION 

Some  day  they'll  shut  me  underneath  a  stone — 

I  who  am  lover  of  the  sun's  gold  light, 

I  who  at  blackness  tremble  with  affright, 

Arrayed  in  raiment  of  a  sombre  tone 

Must  tryst  with  darkness  in  the  grave  alone 

And  know  the  silence  of  that  long,  long  night 

Without  a  yellow  star  or  moon  moth-white 

To  bring  me  comfort  when  the  weird  winds  moan: 

When  as  a  child  they  tucked  me  safe  in  bed, 

Kissed  me  "Good-night"  and  snuffed  the  candle  out, 

Fear  stabbed  my  heart,  till  sleep  so  tenderly 

Calmed  every  fear  and  I  was  comforted. 

O  sleep,  that  could  my  wildest  terror  rout, 

Will  death  be  kind  as  thou  hast  been  to  me? 


93 


THE  INN  OF  CONTENT 

There  is  an  Inn  most  curious, 

And  daily  through  its  ancient  door 
Great  crowds  pass  in  of  young  and  old, 

And  good  and  bad  and  rich  and  poor. 

Though  none  may  number  all  its  guests, 

There  is  abundant  space  for  all ; — 
Uoorless  and  windowless  the  rooms 

Each  three  feet  wide  and  six  feet  tall. 

Upon  the  hearth  no  fire  burns, 

The  floors  are  damp  and  smell  of  must; 
No  servants  there  of  man  or  maid, — 

Just  silence  .  .  .  long,  long  sleep  .  .  .  and  dust ! 

But  of  the  guests  who  tarry  there 

Through  summer,  autumn,  winter,  spring, 

Not  one  has  ever  made  complaint 
To  the  dark  Host  of  anything. 


THE  HOPE  ETERNAL 

What  does  it  matter  if  spring  be  late  returning, 
Or  grief  and  tears  bide  with  us  overlong? 
We  know  full  soon  the  patient  heart  and  yearning 
Shall  find  those  things  that  wake  the  lips  to  song! 

What  does  it  matter  .  .  .  the  little  night  of  slumber 
Within  God's  green  and  silent  hostelry? 
With  morn,  each  guest  shall  wake !  and  who  may  number 
The  million  morns  that  make  Eternity ! 


95 


BEYOND  THE  LAND  OF  SLEEP  AND  DEATH 

Like  play-worn,  sleepy  tots  at  candle-light, 
Who  flinch  from  every  shadow  of  the  night 
Until  they  reach  the  peaceful  Land  of  Nod; 
So  we  of  twilight  years  when  night  grows  deep. 
Shrink  from  kind  death,  who  puts  old  age  to  sleep, 
To  wake  within  the  Poppy  Fields  of  God ! 


96 


FINIS 

Fold  thou  his  clay-cold  hands  on  his  chest, 
Light  all  the  candles  and  spread  the  white  sheet ; 
New-born,  a  soul  seeks  the  Country  of  Truth, 
Infinite,  tearless  and  deathless  and  sweet: 
Soul,  death  but  leads  thee  to  springtime  and  youth ! 


97 


IIIIHII 

A     000717943 


